Category Archives: tips

Kind-of-Sort-of Ask Lucy a.k.a. I CAN ANSWER THAT! (Volume 9)

Well! Here we are, my most beloved of all my beloveds! Have we got questions? Oh, have WE got QUESTIONS. I can’t even. SO MANY QUESTIONS. Like eleventy-billion questions. No, no, maybe less than that. Like eleventy-million. I don’t like to exaggerate, that’s just déclassé.

Except when a kitten does it. Then it’s ok.

So, in case you don’t remember, here’s a quick rundown of what’s going on here. I don’t know, you might need to know. Like, if the FBI questioned you or something, you’d have to tell them SOMETHING. ANYWAY, because the search terms posts tend to be was insanely long, I break them up into two posts: an open letter to people who find my blog accidentally (that’s yesterday’s post, in case you have goldfish-memory) and a post with just the QUESTIONS that drive people to my blog. And I give advice, and I answer your questions, and it’s really kind of stellar. What? It IS. Isn’t it? Don’t tell me if you don’t think it is. I don’t even want to know. BE NICE.

So, yet again!

Welcome to…

Kind-of-sort-of Ask Lucy.


These are all ACTUAL SEARCH TERMS that brought people to my blog. So these people totally need my help, obviously, because they came to Google SEARCHING FOR HELP. And I can answer these questions! Well, some of them. Maybe not all of them. But I can sure as hell try. I’m really good at trying things, even if I fail spectacularly.

what to do if someone is putting trash in my mail box?
kids keep leaving trash in my mailbox, how do i get them back? I got a lot of searches for this this month. I don’t know what’s up in the world. Why so much mailbox-litter? Weird. The first person here just wants to know what to do, and the second wants REVENGE, which makes me laugh. Reveeeenge! Hello, my name is Person Who Randomly Searches Google, you put trash in my mailbox, prepare to die. Listen, I don’t know what to tell you, babe. They’ll stop eventually, is my guess. Kids get bored of such shit. Kids have short attention spans. I wouldn’t put a bomb in your mailbox or anything. You’ll get arrested. Plus you could hurt your mail carrier. I know a mail carrier and I like him very much. I’d feel terrible if you hurt a mail carrier. You’re welcome, I’m sorry someone’s letterbombing you, pun most definitely intended.

which country has lots of sluts Hee! I have no idea. By “sluts,” do you mean legalized prostitution, or do you mean whorey girls that’ll put out? I’d think any country has those. Some more than others. Smaller, more religious countries maybe less? I don’t know. Anyone have any advice for this guy? Is the country you live in slut-laden? Also, sir (or, ma’am, I suppose, don’t mean to be sexist) “slut” is a rude term, and if you use it, women are less likely to sleep with you. Just a tip. We prefer “shady lady.” You are welcome, wear a condom.

why do i always obsess last guy i made out with Well, I would hope it’s because you had feelings for that person, because why are you making out with random people? From experience, I can tell you making out with people you have no feelings for doesn’t even rev your engine a little, while making out with someone you like is TOTALLY engine-revvy. I mean, well, not that I ever made out with RANDOM PEOPLE. Ahem. Cough. Cough. Misspent youth. I always knew who they WERE, for the most part. That guy who was the other guy’s friend who had nice hair. Friend S. from the theater. The pretty boy with glasses I met at happy hour. It’s not like I picked them up on the BUS, come on now. So, the answer to your question is: YOU HAVE EMOTIONS. You’re a human, not a robot. Welcome to the human race, it’s nice. We have cake, sometimes. You’re welcome, wear Chapstick.

Emotions are part of the package. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

is lucy football grownup This made me laugh so hard I snorted. Yes. Yes, I am, my friend. I am almost 40. I know. It’s surprising, considering I talk like a sixteen-year-old. But, yep. I’m an adult. I can vote and drive a car and get a tattoo or a piercing and I have grey hair and everything. And I’ve done/have ALL of those things. I’m about to hit my midlife crisis head-on, baby. It’s gonna be GLORIOUS. You’re welcome, I’m glad I could tell you personal information about myself that you seem to need for some strange reason.

what is the meaning of molasses The…meaning? It’s thick, dark brown uncrystallized juice obtained from raw sugar during the refining process. I got that from Google, it’s not like I knew or anything. I like molasses cookies alright. They’re fine. Sometimes I get a craving for them. But I don’t know that there’s a MEANING. It’s not like it’s a EUPHEMISM. Well, I don’t think it is. Ken? Is molasses a euphemism? You’re welcome, stop trying to find the meaning in everything. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, you know?

Sweet sassy molassy!

can I change my gender with a spell or potion Oh. No. No, you…no. Please tell me you were kidding. I know I blogged about this once, but I was KIDDING. As was the eBay seller of the potion. Well, they weren’t KIDDING as much as they were looking to rip you off, but still. Sentiment’s the same. No. If you want to change your gender, there’s no Polyjuice Potion, my love. You need to get surgery and therapy and take lots of hormones and it’s a tough go but it’s worth it to become the person you need to be. I’m sorry. I wish I had a better answer for you. You’re welcome. I hope you’re ok.

Only in the movies, babydoll. Only in the movies. And books, first, of course.

what are some charlie brown relationship patterns Aw, well, I love this. Let’s see. Charlie Brown loves The Little Red Haired Girl from afar, but never gets up the courage to talk to her. Sally loves Linus but he doesn’t give a shit. Lucy loves Schroeder but HE doesn’t give a shit. Everyone bullies Charlie Brown except for Linus. Lucy treats Charlie Brown like dogshit. Utter dogshit. Snoopy’s just the best and so full of life. As dogs are, you know? Especially beagles. My favorite TYPE of dogs! Patty and Marcie seem solid and everyone always said they were lesbians, I don’t know. Patty’s pretty bossy but Marcie seems down with it. So…the relationship patterns in Charlie Brown’s world are…well, really pretty shitty, to tell you the truth. Lots of longing, no one ever gets who they want, everyone’s pretty miserable when you think about it. And did I name my blog after this cartoon? Yes. Yes, I did. You’re welcome, write a term paper about this and let me read it, ok?

did glee ever do a lana del rey song I’ve missed the past couple weeks of Glee so I can’t answer this with any sort of authority. The internet seems to think they did “Video Games” back in May. Am I forgetting this? Glee’s gotten pretty effing forgettable lately and I kind of hate it, to tell you the truth. You’re welcome, watch American Horror Story, it’s better. (Oh, research tells me that, yes, they did, but it didn’t make the episode. Here, you can listen. Puck covered it, so it’s pretty and dark and kind of twisted and now I’ve been listening to it over and over for like twenty minutes. I miss Puck, by the way. Sigh, Puck.)

do men get erections just from seeing someone? “are you happy to see me?” Ha! I don’t know. I think in high school that happens. But I think when they grow up they get better control over such things. This is a very funny question. Men, you can chime in here if you want, I don’t have a trouser snake, I’m not any sort of authority here. You’re welcome, please keep that in your pants. And, yes. I’m ALWAYS happy to see you. Just not…like that.


do you have to wear a turtleneck with something else Well, I hope with SOMETHING else. Not JUST the turtleneck. With your bottom half all naked? That’s not even REMOTELY sexy. Even someone SO sexy couldn’t make that work, I wouldn’t think. But, yeah, I have a couple of turtleneck sweaters I wear just on their own, well, with pants and shoes and all. Sometimes a skirt. I don’t wear them UNDER anything. Is that your question? This is weird. You’re welcome, coming to me for clothing advice is like going to the ocean to ask it about the desert, honestly.

This made me laugh SO HARD. Look at his little monogram on his sleeve! SO FANCY! So he doesn’t forget who he is, I guess!

from what were animals made out of? This sounds like a Biblical question. Like, Eve was made from Adam’s rib (coughbullshitcough) so the animals were made from…what? The answer is MAGIC FAIRY DUST. And RAINBOWS. You are WELCOME, please feel free to quote me at your next Bible study. I’m sure it’ll be a hit.

I’m sorry. This made me laugh SO HARD. Well, married readers? Is it? Is it just like this? With wild animals and foliage and such?

how do kakopo feel if you touch it Like…a bird? With feathers? I find that birds feel a lot less substantial than you’d think when you touch them. Like, they look all big, but underneath their feathers they’re just spindly. But kakopos are magical and hump your head like it’s a sex-hat, so…yeah, probably don’t touch ‘em unless you want ‘em to be humpin’ up on you. You’re welcome, don’t be screwing a bird.

Aw, kakopo. Poor little horny kakopo.

how to make a paper mache whale I’d think…um…build a whale out of balloons and masking tape, then cover that in paper mache and then wait for it to dry? That’s how I build shit out of paper mache, if I have to do it. Once I built a whole set out of paper mache. It was the messiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I ruined a billion sets of clothing and shoes and it was in my hair for WEEKS. Set was kickass, though. You’re welcome, best of all things with your craft project.

HOW CUTE IS THIS. Someone make me one.

how to wear skinny jeans or jeggings without cameltoe Ha! I love you guys, most sincerely. Well, I’d say, don’t wear ‘em, they look silly, but if you have to…I don’t know. Just don’t wear ‘em so tight, maybe? Or, wear extra paddy underwear? I have no advice, here. I don’t wear these types of pant-items. I wear boot-cut jeans and khakis. End statement. Oh, in my house I wear pajama pants that fall down all the time because they were purchased when I was substantially larger. Speaking of which, do you think if you lost a lot of weight without trying, you’re dying? OK, just wondering. For a friend. You’re welcome, dress appropriately.

What’s the male equivalent of cameltoe? Because I’m going to assume, on front-view, this guy’s got that going on.

is being called a fucking bitch normal? “Normal?” I don’t know. Were you acting like a fucking bitch? Does it happen, like, every DAY, or just once and a while? I don’t think calling people names like this is NORMAL. I mean, I call people things like this, but not to their FACES. Like, there’s this person I know. I won’t say where, or when, but a person. I know. And every time I interact with her, she is SO NEGATIVE. So as I walk away from her, I say, under my breath, “I think you might be the biggest bitch I have ever met” or “You make me want to stab baby kittens” or something along those lines, you know? But not TO her. To her face, I am VERY POLITE. It takes a lot to make me shout, actually. I have to be pushed pretty far or be really really tired. I know. You’re probably surprised, I seem all volatile. So, “normal?” No. I don’t think it is. And I think if you’re in an environment where that’s happening, you need to get out, because that is a poison environment. You’re welcome, I don’t think you’re a bitch. I think you’re a lovely special snowflake.

is it normal when kids had the flu after to be so crenky Hee, “crenky.” Yes. That’s normal. The flu is the WORST. It makes you feel like DEATH DEATH DEATH. And little kiddos are less able to deal with such things than grownup people. So, sure it is. Be nice to your little convalescing babies, you. Oh, I spoke to The Nephew today, he told me he was going to be Buzz Lightyear for Halloween and that Buzz Lightyear says “To infinity! And BEYOND!” and I told him, “You are the BEST Buzz Lightyear!” and he giggled and said, “YES!” so I think I win Halloween. You’re welcome, be nice to your little ones, I wish I had some around to spoil rotten.

My little Buzz is better than this. Sorry, real Buzz Lightyear. My little guy’s more excited than you are about…well…everything.

are there social anxiety pills I hear there are. My friend offered me some once, to get me to go to a party with her. I did not take them. I learned in an Afterschool Special you don’t take other people’s prescription medication. So, yes. I think so. Xanax, or something. Ask your doctor. Don’t ask the internet. You’re welcome, isn’t social anxiety the best?

Oh, well, you don’t need pills. You can use PSYCHOLOGICAL TRICKS. This is good news.

is tiger tiger burning bright ee cummings Nope. It’s William Blake. I don’t think (not that I can FIND, anyway) that cummings even referenced the Blake poem.    It’s a nice poem. I like it. I like cummings better, though. I’m a cummings fangirl, what can I say. You’re welcome, I like your curiosity about poetry. Keep it up, sweetpea.

how to see theyr underware with your phone WHAT THE HELL? Your phone is not XRAY SPECS. You are NUTS. And kind of GROSS. And a PEEPER. Cut this out right now. Also, your spelling and grammar are atrocious. STOP IT YOU. You’re welcome, NO NO NO.

Well! There we go, jellybeans! All the questions! All the answering! All for YOU! I hope that was helpful. I love your faces. Until next month, may your questions be answered and your searches bring you to someone who is helpful. Or, lacking that: may they bring you to me, because I try REALLY HARD to help. I totally do.

Tip Number 31: You can use it like undereye cream! Remove those unsightly bags! What? No?

So yesterday we started the week out with a euphemistic bang by discussing weird vibrators and wall-sex and scarf-sex. Today, we’re ALSO not safe for work, and we’re discussing MORE helpful Cosmo tips. About ROMANCE. And LUBE. Listen, YOU’RE the ones who said there’s not enough SEX around here. Now you get TWO DAYS of it. Oh, my search terms next month are going to be SO AWFUL.

25 Romantic Ideas (That Won’t Freak Him Out.) How much money do you want to put on the fact that these are going to freak him out? I’m poor as poor and I’d take that bet.

  • Initiate a spontaneous dance party. While you’re cooking or going about other daily rituals, turn up one of your shared favorite artists and start grooving. Even if he tries to rein in your silly side, the moment he comes over to curb your running man can lead to a sweet, intimate hug and kiss. (The hell? Don’t do this. I mean, if you wanna dance, dance, babe. But don’t do it just to get him all romantic-like. That’s stupid. Also, he’s going to think you’re a weirdo. And I can assure you, if I did it, he’d think I was having a seizure. Can’t dance! Not even a little!)
  • Write him a short, sexy message on a sticky note and stick it in an unexpected place for him to find. When he opens his glasses case or starts his car, he’ll have an unprompted reminder that you care. (“Hi honey I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I WANT TO EAT YOUR FACE EAT IT RIGHT OFF HA HA NOT REALLY BUT KINDA!” Write that. He’ll love that. Put that on like fifty postits and put them EVERYWHERE. That’ll get him.)

    I don’t think you need to write “The Beatles” under this. That’s like writing “In the beginning…” –God on a post-it. WE KNOW WHO WROTE THESE LYRICS.

  • Browse the local music listings for cheap or free shows in your area and create a “crawl” based on acts with the most hilarious names. Another option: checking out a genre neither of you are too familiar with. You never know—you might discover your favorite new group, and if it’s horrible, plenty of performers can turn out to be entertainingly bad. (Because nothing says “romantic night out” more than mocking local musicians who are just trying really hard. Way to go, douchecanoes.)


  • Make a game out of picking out random items around the house and determining ways to incorporate them into bedroom play. Okay, maybe those porcelain frog figurines won’t do, but those cashmere scarves might serve, shall we say, dual purposes? Whatever doesn’t work can totally make for a good laugh. (ZOMG COSMO. Make it STOP with the scarves. Also, don’t even bring porcelain frog figurines into this. Porcelain frog figurines are INNOCENT and are not allowed to be part of your naughty scarfy sex-play.)

    LEAVE US OUT OF THIS. Better yet, turn our froggy faces to the wall when you’re gettin’ all weird up over there. *shudder*

  • Tease your guy with little practical jokes. Have an object, like a ridiculous fake plant, that he’s given you a hard time about? Hide it around his place. Whether it’s waiting for him in the fridge, the washer, or his computer’s desktop wallpaper, it’s destined to deliver a genuine laugh. (You’re going to put a PLANT in the WASHER? I think he’s going to be all “why the hell is this plant in the washer, my girlfriend’s losing her shit.” This isn’t romantic. It’s stupid. Stop being stupid. Also, how the hell would you get a plant into someone’s desktop wallpaper? In like a virtual-reality way? In the FRIDGE? FOOD goes in the fridge. Not fake PLANTS. WEIRD and STUPID.)


    Although this tip did put one of my favorite songs in my head and I’ve been singing it under my breath for the past twenty minutes. I like the “it wears her out” part.

  • Even studies have proven that vacation sex is one of the hottest varieties. Too broke to jet off to the Caribbean? Experience the same fresh change of scene by indulging in a staycation. Check into a hotel of your picking and kick back with a killer bottle of wine and some room service. Don’t forget to score a few dirty looks from stodgy older guests by playing some of your favorite throwback games in the indoor pool. (Listen, I’m all for bon vivanting. You know that. And sexy bon vivanting is NICE. But acting like an asshole in the hotel and pissing off the other guests is not the way to go.)

These romantic ideas are stupid. You can do better. Here’s an idea: just be yourself. If he’s the right guy, it’ll come. If he’s not, why are you wasting your time? Honestly, I’ve been with some guys that hanging out talking all night was the most romantic thing in the world, and we didn’t spend a single penny, and I’ve been with some guys that dinner and wining and dining and moonlight and candlelight and ALL of that left me dead and cold inside so romance is where you find it, chickpeas. (ZOMG I TOTALLY WANT CHICKPEAS. If someone brought me chickpeas right now, now THAT would be romantic.)

I want these SO MUCH right now I can’t even. I am having a Pavlovian response to this photo. WANNNNNTTTTT.

Two more! This is super-long, right? It’s because Cosmo’s so helpful. 25 Ways to Seduce a Man. WELL! That’s going to be helpful. I’d like to seduce a man. What’cha got, Cosmo?

  • Join him in the shower wearing a white tee and nothing else. Once you get soaked, he’ll get a front-row seat to a hot wet T-shirt contest. (Or you could…just get into the shower naked? I don’t…is the t-shirt sexier? It’d just get all wet, and hard to take off, and clammy, and then you’d have to dry it and wash it again, and the thought of extra housework doesn’t make me turned-on. It makes me tired. Also, one time I knew someone that had shower sex and she almost dislocated a hip. I don’t think ER visits are sexy, either.)
  • When you’re watching TV together, drape your bod across his lap with your stomach facing the sky. Then, arch your back so that your boobs stick out. He won’t be able to tear his eyes away. (“I’m trying to watch Storage Wars. WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING ME? This can’t wait until after this is done? I can’t even SEE over your BOOBS. Sheesh.”)


  • If you’re at a party, walk up to him and whisper something naughty in his ear like, “I’m wearing a new thong tonight. Want to check it out later?” Then saunter away. (That’s naughty? You can do better. “Let’s go have sex in the guest bathroom right now, the hostess has a kicky selection of scarves,” now THAT’S naughty. Also, don’t saunter. Don’t ever saunter.)
  • Spotted a hottie across a crowded room? Make eye contact, hold it for two seconds while giving a sexy little smirk, look away for a second, and then look back at him. He’ll be over in no time. (TRUE STORY! Once I tried something like this, and the guy totally came over, and I was all, “no shit. That worked?” and he was all, “I’m sorry, were you trying to get my attention? Do we know each other?” and I said, “no…” because I didn’t know what to say because THIS was awkward and he was all, “oh, I thought we had class together or something, sorry” and then he left. So that was TOTALLY seductive! Except not at all seductive.)
  • Climb into bed one night wearing sexy thigh-highs and nothing else. (You think I’m going to wear pantyhose? On PURPOSE? On my time OFF? No thanks. Not even a little bit.)
  • While you’re both at work, text him a pic of how hot your bare legs look in your new heels. (“What the hell? Why is she sending me photos of disembodied legs and feet? This chick is SO EFFING WEIRD.”)
  • Send him this text: “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight…;).” (“What’s in the box? What’s in the box? WHAT’S IN THE BOX?!?!?!”)


  • Spritz a musky perfume in your hair and pull it up into a ponytail. When you’re hanging out next to him, let your hair down. He’ll get a sultry whiff. (“GOOD GRIEF WOMAN! Why is your hair so GREASY? Maybe you could use SHAMPOO next time and not PERFUME?”)
  • If you have long hair, gently stroke the ends and let your hands float down to your breasts afterwards. Catch his eye while you’re doing it and give a sexy smile. (This is the single freakiest thing I have read yet. This is worse than the scarf-thing. I’m just imagining this girl staring at this guy all dead-eyed and playing with her hair over and over while the guy’s all, “are you ok? What’s up? Did you take your meds today?”)

Are these the ways to seduce a man? Really? Well, shit, I guess I see why I’m single. And why I’m likely to remain so forever. I’m not going to do ANY of these things. Not ever ever. SO EMBARRASSING. Finally, we have 25 Sexy Ways to Use Lube. Um. I don’t…huh. I can think of one. And it’s to lube oneself, or, I suppose, another, prior to…um…needing that lube. Twenty-five? That is a LOT. Cosmo knows all the things, it’s really kind of impressive.

ZOMG JIM. Look what I FOUND. It is the GROSSEST. Bacon DOESN’T make everything better, not at all.

  • Have your guy lay face-down on the bed and spread lube on your hands. Massage up and down his groin area using a sawing motion with the side of your hands. This movement stimulates blood flow down there, giving him a better erection. (The words “sawing motion” made me laugh so hard I almost choked and died, I’m not even kidding. SAWING MOTION. Because if there’s anything sexy about “groin areas” and “lube,” it’s a SAWING MOTION. Like you do with wood! Ha, wood. With sharp, sharp saws, and wood.)


  • Spread a warming lube like Durex Play Warming on his boys. (Putting lube on someone’s children is not advised. Oh, wait, boys is a EUPHEMISM. It means BALLS. Don’t do this, I know someone who had a bad experience with warming lube and “it burns IT IS BURNING ME” made me laugh until I choked. NO, it didn’t happen to me. It was the retelling the next day that killed me dead. In TEARS of laughter, I was. Because inappropriate things make me hysterical.)

    Please don’t put lube on these adorable kiddos. Look at these FACES!

  • Spread a strawberry-flavored lube on his erection and lick it like an ice cream cone. (What, with big old chomps? That’s how *I* eat my ice cream. OK, who wants me to chomp on ’em? What? No one? Sheesh, Cosmo said it was SEXY. This is TERRIBLE advice. Also, FLAVORED lube? GROSS. It would taste awful. Don’t fool yourself it wouldn’t.)
  • Slick lube on your breasts and lay down behind your guy, with his back to you. Slide your bod up and down his back. The sensations will be super-hot for both of you. (What? No it wouldn’t. It would be HYSTERICALLY FUNNY. He’d be all, “What’cha doin’ back there?” and then you’d both get the giggles. Don’t do this, come on. Also, stop saying “bod.” NO ONE SAYS BOD.)
  • Marathon sex sessions can dry you out, so reapplying lube during a long one is key. Make a game of it by setting a timer on your phone. Once it goes off, you both have to stop and spread lube on each other. (What a fun game! “ZOMG I AM DRY AS THE DESERT WHAT WITH YOUR HUMPING! The timer went off! WHAT FUN TIME FOR LUBING!” Is anyone else getting the idea that this is paid for by the American Lube Council or something?)
  • Got a squeaky bed? A few drops of lube at the joints should fix it. (THEY RAN OUT OF SEX IDEAS. This is #17. They couldn’t even finish the 25 so they’re now including HELPFUL HOME TIPS. This list is making me laugh so hard I have to pee.)

    Why is this person doing so much work? Just squirt a shit-ton of lube all over that mother. Works like a CHARM.

The moral of this story is…shit, I don’t even know. Get all slippery, I guess. SO STUPID. So what did we learn today, chickadees? Other than, sometimes this blog is totally not safe for work and YOU ARE WELCOME? Well, the answer is, Cosmo is VERY BAD AT SEX TIPS. So, so bad. Like, so bad it makes my head hurt. Here, I will give you sex tips. They are better than Cosmo’s.

  • Have sex.
  • Have fun having sex.
  • Please don’t hurt anyone. Unless that’s what you’re into, I’m not judgey.
  • I guess if you feel you need to use scarves, you can? But please give the guy a heads-up. And don’t tie them too tight. Because, there’s a difference between a sex-scarf and a tourniquet, you know?
  • Please don’t feel the need to listen to Cosmo’s advice. I feel like the people who wrote it might have grown up in a closet or something and have very little understanding how the real world works, sex-wise.
  • Did I mention have all the sex, and have fun having that sex? Good. Those are the most important points.

That is all I have to say about sex right now. I think that’s enough, don’t you? Good. Oh, don’t buy that cone thing we talked about yesterday. That’s not sexy at all. sj and I have been discussing it and mostly the concensus we came up with was “ew, what? No. I can’t even…no.” Can you even imagine whipping out that cone-thing when you had a gentleman caller over, all, “hey, babe, let’s try this cone-thing?”  No. Do not do that, please. Ding Dong Joe, and also I suppose Pervy Pete: I hope you have enjoyed these very informative posts. You are WELCOME, don’t say I never gave you anything. Maybe start thinking about finding your own place in Munich? Ken can’t be supporting you forever. He might want to actually SIT on his couch someday, you know? After he disinfects it. Disinfect that couch, Ken. RIGHT AS SOON AS HE LEAVES. You have NO IDEA where he’s been. None at all.

I got my lunch packed up, my boots tied tight, I hope I don’t get in a fight…

I’ve been so busy I totally missed back-to-school time! What WILL the kids do without my back-to-school fashion roundup, I ask you? I mean, they’re probably going back to school this week wearing pajamas, all, “AMY DIDN’T TELL US WHAT TO WEAR” and that makes me SO SAD. I’m sorry, youth of America. I’ve been busy working and working and working and sometimes sleeping. I know I’ve let you down. Here, I’ll fix it. Better late than never. I hope some of these things are still on the shelves.

(via random websites on the interwebs that all say they know what’s up)

Boyfriend jeans

I like that you have to peg the legs. We did this when I was in school. TWENTY YEARS AGO. What was old is now new! I AM COOL AGAIN! (Pee ess I was never cool.)

Apparently this is what they call jeans that are all slouchy and distressed and fit all loose. I don’t have an issue with these. They look comfortable. Although I don’t think you could actually wear your boyfriend’s jeans. They wouldn’t fit. How often do people date someone that’s exactly the same size as them? Also, high school boys smell weird and you shouldn’t be getting naked with them anyway, you’re only a kid. Stop that.

Skinny jeans

I guess you don’t sit down when wearing these. That would make taking classes a little difficult.

This website calls skinny jeans “Spanx you can wear on the outside!” and I think that’s misleading because the point of Spanx is that your clothes cover up the Spanx and also all of your random fat-rolls that are thrown asunder by the Spanx. If you’re wearing your Spanx on the outside, people will see all MANNER of ills. Also, I feel like skinny jeans are cutting off circulation to your hooha, and you’re going to want that for teen sex. Also, look, there’s like scientific proof that skinny jeans are bad for your health. SCIENCE KIDS! It’s not just a class you take after homeroom! Skinny jeans pinch one of the nerves in your outer thigh and make your legs tingly, not the good kind of tingly like when Jimmy McGee walks by in his letter sweater, either. (What? Kids don’t wear letter sweaters anymore? Shut up, I don’t know.) So I’m saying no no no nein on the skinny jeans, even though they’re supposedly what all the cool kids wear. Who wants to be a cool kid, anyway? If you watch any afterschool specials, the cool kids always die from driving while texting or whatever anyway.


These look so tight. Look at the pocket on the left, it’s all poking up out of protest.

STOP TRYING TO MAKE FETCH HAPPEN. IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. Oh, wait, shit, fetch happened? These stupid things are actually popular? Ugh, I feel like if you wore these you’re walking around with only tights on. They make me nervous. I didn’t understand them last hear and I don’t understand them now. Just don’t wear them. Ignore them and maybe they’ll go away.


ZOMG THIS WEAR THIS. Because when the other kids see this, you’re totally elected queen of the prom. No question about it.

This site tells me that bangle bracelets, big brooches, and wicker handbags are all the rage. GRANDMA DID YOU WRITE THIS? Seriously, if these things are in style, my grandmother is CUTTING EDGE BABY. I don’t know too many teens but the ones I do know aren’t wearing grandma-chic. Ignore this tip. If you wear these things, people are going to laugh at you. THEY’RE ALL GOING TO LAUGH AT YOU, CARRIE! THEY’RE ALL GOING TO LAUGH AT YOU!


Here we read that thigh-high boots are in for 2012. You know who else wore thigh-high boots? Vivian Ward.

She says who..she says when…she says…who…

I don’t think you need to be wearing thigh-high stripper boots to high school. If you want to wear them on your time off, that’s your call, but you’ve got like 80 more years of your life to be skeezy, so why don’t you wait a few years? Wear practical shoes to school. I don’t even know that any of us wore heels when I was in school. We wore sneakers. Sometimes we wore flats, if we were dressed up. Is dressing like a teenage prostitute the thing? We here at Lucy’s Football do not approve of you looking like a teenage prostitute. We think you are much too classy for that.

Puffed shoulders

Adorable, if you’re built like a waif ballerina, I guess.

Apparently, puffed shoulders are the thing? I don’t approve. What do you think this is, the 30s, and we’re all in leg o’mutton sleeves?

Let me know when these come back into style, I’m going to hide in the closet.

No no no. This is foolish. Listen, I feel like a lot of these tips come from Gossip Girl. YES. The clothes on Gossip Girl are gorgeous. But they’re totally impractical and no one dresses like that. Everyone thinks they’re a Serena or a Blair but in all actuality everyone’s either a Vanessa or a Dorota. You know it’s true.

Superdistressed jeans

Oh, come on now. Really? Really, truly?

Um. These are a mess and if you want jeans that are a mess I’ll give you every pair of jeans I’ve thrown away after spilling something on them that I can’t get out of them. You look like you had an accident while bleaching evidence of a tub-murder out of the hotel where you work. When I was a wee Amy, I wanted jeans that were acid-washed and my mom said the same thing to me and I was all “PARENTS JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND” and now I understand. Sorry, Mom. These look ridiculous.

A natural, clear complexion

Because skin like this just HAPPENS. Or you can buy it over the counter, like NAILPOLISH.

OH THIS IS AN EASY ONE BECAUSE YOU CAN BUY IT ANYWHERE! Ugh, come on, what the hell? Listen. Some of us (I’m not pointing FINGERS, here, but ME ME ME) had something catastrophic happen when puberty set in, and the acne fairy visited. Now, I know you’re all saying “oh, yep, me too, Amy, me too.” No. I’m not saying once and a while I had a little zit like in the Judy Blume books. I’m saying, you know those terrible before-and-after photos they show on the Proactiv commercials that are probably photoshopped where the person looks like he or she was ground zero at a nuclear bomb test site? NEWS FLASH. There’s a slight change they’re not photoshopped. Because SOME PEOPLE (ahem me ahem) looked like that in their teen years. Well, some of the teen years. It got so bad that my parents shelled out major buckaroos and brought me to a fancy-schmancy dermatologist who prescribed me the medication that saved my remaining two marbles of teenage self-esteem. However, I’m pretty sure it will cause birth defects to any future children, so I’m not having any. Among other reasons. So for five years, I used this medication religiously, and it worked SO WELL that people were all “UGH AMY HAS THE BEST SKIN” which made me laugh and laugh because it was all a TRICK brought on my MEDICATION and I don’t use it anymore because the side effects were that I couldn’t go in the sun ever and it randomly made pieces of my face peel off and plus it was very expensive, and after the teen years my face stopped revolting (and BEING so revolting) for the most part, but now sometimes randomly I’ll break out, like my face will say, HA HA, just wanted to let you know I’M STILL HERE YOU JERK, and I’ll sigh and say YOU STUPID GENETICS. So, in case you were wondering, kids, I know people tell you that acne stops when you’re out of your teen years but it’s totally a lie. My mom’s in her sixties and still breaks out. Sorry. I hate to break it to you (HA GOOD ONE! Break!), but it’s true. Some of us are just more blessed than others in the ways of disgusting breakouts.

Anyway, it’s mean to put “glowy skin” on a list of things kids need for back-to-school. Because it’s not like all the kids can just get that. It’s genetics. And it’s who can afford the fancy dermatologist who’s willing to prescribe medication that’s not quite legal in the States yet. THANK YOU DOCTOR WHATEVER YOUR NAME WAS!

Yes, there’s a possibility I went to Dr. Nick.

So there you have it, kids. Apparently, you need to wear stripper boots and tight tight pants and shirts with poofy upper-arm areas and my grandma’s jewelry. You are going to look ridiculous, so I suggest as soon as you put all of this on, you take it all off again, put on some nice khakis and a t-shirt with something geeky on it and a pair of comfy Chucks, and you go back to school RELAXED. And if one of the chicks walks by with puffy sleeves and stripper boots you can laugh and laugh because you KNOW she’s going to eat it on the stairs. Those stairs are slippery, yo.

Comfy and classic. You can’t go wrong.

HAPPY BACK TO SCHOOL KIDDOS! Learn all the things! Have all the fun! Be nice to each other, please!

Clothes shopping with Amy: a primer

You can argue there are other train stations prettier than Grand Central, but I won’t believe you.

Well, I’m in New York City right now. My train arrived approximately half an hour ago. I am writing this days in advance, because I couldn’t leave you all without a post. What would happen? Likely the universe would implode. Oh, wait, what. It wouldn’t? Nevermind, then. *I* might implode. I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t post for a day. I might wither like a plant hidden in the dark and denied water, I don’t know.

You’ll get a total NYC recap later in the week, as soon as I sort through my millions of photos and tweets and memories and such. I want to do it up right. If you want to see what I’m doing, pop in and peek at my Twitter feed. The link’s on the right. Susie and I plan on tweeting up a storm today. Well, unless my phone battery dies. It’s pretty shitty. I bought a backup battery so I could switch them out halfway through the day, as I know I’ll need to do that, but I bet I still run out of battery life if I’m not careful. Silly battery-sucking phone.

Oh, before we get to the main event, let’s discuss this nonsense, since I’m in the city so nice they named it twice today. 

Mayor Bloomberg – kind of a dork, in my opinion, but whatever, I don’t hate him, he’s just kind of a dork – has decided the reason people are so fat is that they drink big sodas, so he’s proposed that restaurants, delis, and movie theaters (and I would assume food trucks and kiosks that have fountain drinks, if there are any) are banned from serving any full-calorie beverages in cups over 16 ounces in New York City.


Now, listen. I don’t drink soda. I can’t. My migraine medication interacts with it, strangely enough. Anything carbonated tastes bitter. Soda, seltzer, whatever. It all tastes bitter and makes you make a bad face and gag a little. So I can’t drink soda anymore. And even when I did drink soda, I didn’t drink regular soda, because my stupid pancreas stopped working so I’m not allowed. I was a little addicted to diet soda, though. Which would have been allowed under Bloomberg’s diabolical plan.

Isn’t he just kind of goofy? He looks like a cartoon rat or something.

I just find this all very confusing. Is someone going to police the self-serve soda fountain? Or are those going to be outlawed, too? What if you went back up to one 47 times, to make a point, and drank all the soda? Would you be arrested? Are they going to allow people who say, “diet soda please” to have a big cup, but then choke-hold them if they attempt to fill it up with regular soda? Will there be some sort of alarm on the fountain if someone tries to dispense more than 16 ounces at a time?

Also, and here’s my biggest issue. We’re grownups. We can choose what to eat and drink and what not to. If some adult, plus-sized or not, wants 72 ounces of Coke? Oh, for the love of Pete. Let them have it. Who the hell cares. Part of being an adult is being allowed to make our own choices, for good or for ill. SHOULD people be drinking that much soda? Well, no, probably not. But people shouldn’t be doing a lot of things. Right after Bloomberg proposed this, he went to the big National Doughnut Day giveaway in New York and gave a whole speech about how New York City LOVES DOUGHNUTS! And, EVERYONE EAT ALL THE DOUGHNUTS NOW! Come on, dude. Really? Doughnuts are ok, soda’s not? Doughnuts are actually worse, with the fat and the sugar. At least the soda doesn’t have the fat. My dad’s very up-in-arms daily about how THE MAN is watching us, and THE MAN is taking away our liberties, and THE MAN wants to implant chips in the back of all of our necks, and sometimes that’s annoyingly endearing, and sometimes it’s just annoying, but seriously, every time something happens where someone in charge treats those he or she is in charge of like babies, I have to wonder how much of the nonsense my dad spouts has basis in reality.

OK. Enough of that. Let’s talk about the point of the post. Almost 700 words later. Sorry.

Clothes shopping!

I went clothes shopping for New York City clothes today. Don’t even “pics or it didn’t happen” me, I hate that, plus you’ll see what I bought, I’m sure, because Susie and I will take copious photos today. But as I was shopping (which went surprisingly smoothly, for once), I thought about shopping. And life. As you do.

I hate clothes shopping. Well, I hate most shopping. Shopping for things I need sucks. Shopping for fun things, when I have the money for it – I like that. Book shopping. Ooh, nailpolish shopping. I like those things a lot. But clothes/food/toiletries shopping? Blergh, no thanks.

I can do serious wallet-damage at Sally Beauty Supply. Happily, too. Not a complaint in sight.

But clothing is my least-favorite thing to shop for. Mainly this is because I have the weirdest body in the history of the world. I blame this on genetics. Also cheese. And the hatred I have for physical activity.

I am top-and-middle-heavy and yet have no butt so pants fit oddly. I am all front and no back. I need voluminous tops so the girls don’t get squished but then the rest of me looks like I’m swimming in the top like it’s a circus tent. Different parts of my bottom half are completely different sizes. I AM A CIRCUS FREAK.

Luckily, I’m not alone in this. The top half of me looks like my mom’s side of the family; the bottom half, my dad’s. I’m not a total genetic aberration.

Anyway, I go to the store. And NOTHING EFFING FITS. So I get super-cranky super-fast. My mom hates shopping with me. HATES IT. Yet she’s always all, “let’s go shopping!” because she thinks it’s the most fun thing ever, I don’t know.

So, anyway. Tops. Let’s talk tops.

Google Images bought this up when I searched “plus-sized tops.” Um. Why do you assume I want to look like an extra on “True Blood?” An extra that would probably get killed in the first five minutes? No thanks. I’m not a goth teen. I AM A GROWN PROFESSIONAL WOMAN.

Dear plus-sized top manufacturers: here are things we don’t want in tops.

  • Elastic waistbands. This tends to make us look like we’re super-fat and pregnant. Or five years old and trying to be cutesy.
  • Cap sleeves. We have chubby upper arms, buckaroos. Cap sleeves just highlight that.
  • Turtlenecks on summer tops. WTF? It’s HOT out. Why would we want that? Also, turtlenecks make chubby girls look fatter. They highlight our double chins. Unless they’re a cowl neck, and again, WHY WOULD I WANT THAT IN THE SUMMER.
  • Button-downs that aren’t cut a little wider in the chest area, because, well, chest. With curves. If you don’t factor that in, I can’t button the buttons, dude.
  • Shirts with stupid sayings right across the boobs. Come on, really? I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t need that nonsense. I like a motto tee as much as the next person, but I don’t need it to be garishly ridiculous.
  • Shirts that think “plus size” means “just make it mega-huge, that’ll do.” NO. You need to still make it FLATTERING. Ass. Aren’t plus-sizes outnumbering non-plus-sizes now? Sheesh, start marketing to us, already.
  • Also, this is a thing we WANT, not DON’T WANT. Fitted plus-sized ringer tees. I love them. I can never find them. The ones I have are falling apart from overuse, I love them so. Come on, really? This can’t be that difficult.

Now, pants.

From the same site that brought you chunky goth tops, we have these pants. Really? Zebra-print? That’s not flattering on SKINNY chicks. It’s sure as hell not going to look good on me.

Things we don’t want in pants:

  • Pants that make us look like we have a penis because they have, for some reason, a yard and a half of extra fabric in the crotch.
  • Pants that are so tight we have no circulation to our babymaker and/or a super-pretty cameltoe.
  • Pants that are either so long we have to get them hemmed or so short they might as well be culottes. Why can’t they just be normal lengths? Everyone else can just walk out of the store in their pants. I am 5’8″. This is neither super-tall for women, or super-short. I shouldn’t need to visit a tailor after I shop.
  • Pants that have a mile and a half of extra fabric in the ass. (This might just be me. Cause I have no ass. NONE. Sorry, people that are imagining me as baby-got-back. Baby got NO back. None. I go straight from head to heels. Not a curve in the back at all.)
  • Stupid shit like grommets and bedazzling and creative weathering and nonsense like that. NO NO NO. Just PANTS. I just want some damn SLACKS. Maybe with pockets. I’m a huge fan of khakis. I like to put things in my pockets.

So, anyway, today, after an hour of trying things on, I got two tops and a pair of khakis. A patterned teeshirt with swirly flowers and a pretty v-neck; a purple jewel-toned top with a v-neck and kind of a tie-thingy (and an elastic waistband, which seems to be THE IT THING, but it was somehow actually sort of flattering in this case) and a pair of chocolate-brown khaki-type pants that are very comfortable. A little too long, but that’s par for the course. Plus-sized clothing manufacturers assume that if you’re a fatty, you’re also 7 feet tall, apparently. Which is, of course, true. We’re all Sasquatches. Oh, also, I got all of those things for LESS THAN $30. Win! Total win. They were all buyout and all 20% off.

I also didn’t try to stab anyone at the store, although the other shoppers were annoying and driving me nuts, and the music was SO EFFING LOUD I couldn’t hear myself think. I was just so excited about getting clothes that would be worn in New York City I think I was a lot more forgiving.

Clothes shopping with me, if it ever happens for you, needs to go thusly: you leave me the hell alone. I’m going to get cranky. I’m going to cuss under my breath, get hot and tired, and probably need a beverage. Nothing’s going to fit. I’m going to fall in love with the most expensive things in the store. I’m going to get cranky at the other shoppers and the salespeople and the racks and the dressing rooms and probably the air. I HATE SHOPPING. Just smile and nod. I promise I’ll be ok once we leave the store. If you promise me we can buy nailpolish afterward I might be more tractable.

Anyway, so you probably don’t want to go shopping with me. It’s the worst. BUT, I was successful, and I will be cute as a button today. Well, no. I’m never cute as a button. I’ll be presentable, let’s put it that way. Totally presentable. And I’ll be wearing my best accessory: a HUGE SMILE. Because I’m seeing Susie! Hooray! NYC, I AM IN YOU!

Oh, let’s continue our Bloggiversary week!

Remember, you have until Friday at midnight EST to comment on this post (no, not THIS one, the one in the preceding link!) to be entered into the drawing!

Today’s post of popularity – number five, in case anyone’s counting – is one of my favorites. Not only because I like the topic and am proud of how it turned out and all the work that went into it, but because it led to a collaborative series of posts a week or two later that still remains one of my favorite things about the entire damn year.

Feline Fatal Attraction: Dumbcat is Trying to Kill Me With Brain Parasites

If you click on that, you have to read the comments. They’re the best part.

What did we learn about the popularity of this post? Lots of things. You love things that are awesome. You love Dumbcat. (And why wouldn’t you, he’s fantastic.) It’s worth my time to do an hour or two of research and highlighting and reading of scientific articles, sometimes, because look at the awesome post that resulted. That you love sciency stuff. That Andreas is the best Science Fellow and this blog wouldn’t be half of what it is without him. Lots of things. We learned lots of things with the continuing popularity of that post. Thank you for the continuing popularity of that post.

Happy Tuesday! Go check in on me on Twitter, what do you think I’m doing now, I wonder? Having an adventure? I BET I AM!

Listen, if the children are our future, we really need to live for today, because the future is BLEAK.

Today, let’s talk about bad decisions. Heh. That always always makes me think of that Bad Idea Jeans Saturday Night Live commercial. I bet I can’t find it on You Tube. Stupid fascist Saturday Night Live. Yep, I’m right. It’s only on Hulu. Anyway, here, watch, it’ll make you laugh. Unless you’re a soulless waste. Then it probably won’t. Also, check out all of that acid wash. Remember acid wash? Talk about bad decisions. We sure thought that was pretty, didn’t we? If you’re too young to remember acid wash, consider yourself lucky.

So I’ve come across some things online lately, and also in life, and I think we need to discuss them. And how bad decisions should be not made. How about not made? Great, good, stop that, thanks.

I don’t have kids. So, listen. I know. I’m not overly qualified to be giving them advice. HOWEVER! I was ONCE a kid. Who made SPECTACULARLY bad decisions. No, no. Not all bad decisions. But some? Yes. Yes, most definitely.

Today, we’re going to discuss five important things you need to stop doing, please. Things that might SEEM like really fun, cool ideas, but I assure you, you’re going to regret them. I am HAPPY to share my experience with you! Well, where I have experience. There are some of these I have no experience in but I KNOW THEY ARE BAD NEWS YO. So! Kiddos! And people that love kiddos! And people who read my blog no matter what I write about! Here, for you! A list of FIVE THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT DO WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG AND THINK YOU ARE INVINCIBLE. (Or even when you are old. Or, ever.)

Sexting/Posting Porn Online

This is SRS BSNS, you guys. There is a NATIONAL CAMPAIGN. (Which cracked me up a little.)

Let’s make up a little scenario, shall we? OK. You’re sixteen. You’re in a relationship with another sixteen year old. You’re all smushy-smushy in love. Aw, you guys. With the PDA and the smooching and the putting your hands in each other’s back pockets when you walk down the hall. (Wait, does that still happen? If that doesn’t happen, replace it with what you kiddos do nowadays, I don’t know.) You’re most likely having sex. That’s what the kids today seem to do. I’d like to tell you to wait to do that, too, but listen, that’s a losing battle. Kids in my day were having all the sex in high school, kids in my PARENTS’ day were doing it, and from what my totally scandalous-tale-telling grandmother tells me, when SHE was in school kids were doing it (and she calls them “SHAMELESS HUSSIES!” and their children “BASTARD CHILDREN!”) so there’s no way I’m going to stop the children from having sex in high school. Your hormones are running high, you’re surrounded by pretty people whose hormones are ALSO running high, and although I don’t think it’s a good IDEA, I can’t STOP you. (Use protection, tater tots. USE PROTECTION. You really don’t want an STD at age 35 that you contacted at age 16. You’re going to be SO MAD at 16-year-old-you.)

Whoo, anyway. So. You’re sixteen, you’re getting it on with your main squeeze. He’s all, “send me a picture of your boobs, Sally!” or “Talk dirty to me, Betty Sue!” and you have a moment of, “Hmm. Should I do that?”


There are many reasons. At the moment it’s happening? You trust that person implicitly. You think they’re forever and ever. How many old people do you know that are married to their high-school sweethearts? Very few. Because THAT SHIT DON’T LAST YO. So, once you’ve broken up, someone’s going to have hurt feelings. And if it’s him with the hurt feelings? You can bet he’s still got that nekkid picture of you. And now EVERYONE YOU KNOW HAS IT. Hope you like everyone seeing your tatas! Including maybe your parents, your siblings, your grandparents, and potential employers!

Your mom’s reaction to getting forwarded your sexts. Don’t you feel proud?

Also, I was pointed in the direction to a site with quite a bit of amateur porn on it recently. I’m kind of the most naive about things, so I alternated shocked-facing and laughing like a moron. YES, I know about PORN. Porn wasn’t what was shocking. That everyday normal people were recording themselves and then posting it online like it was a good idea was the surprising part. These people seemed to be of-age, so that was going for them. But WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING. Listen, the whole internet doesn’t need to see you plowing your girlfriend on a lawnchair with your socks on while your dog licks the camera.

Rule of thumb: the internet lasts forever. Phones count as the internet. Before you send/write anything online? Assume it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass someday. Are you ok with that? Or would you be mortified? If it’s the latter, DON’T DO IT. (Spoiler alert: it’s always the latter.)

Having Babies in High School on Purpose

I assume this isn’t just a movie-of-the-week thing and it’s really real. And research backs me up. Apparently, high-school girls think that it is cool and it is a status symbol to have a baby in high school, so they PURPOSELY get pregnant in high school, to the point of MAKING A PACT TO DO SO. This seems to be a way to create a little person who will unconditionally love them, and also they think it will make all the people look up to them like they are the coolest.

There was a Lifetime Movie and everything. It isn’t even a joke.

OK. Want another scenario? Cool. So, you get pregnant on purpose at age 16. Everyone pays attention to you! You and your glowy pregnant self and your cute pregnant belly! And you get showers, and presents, and you get to put together a crib, and WHOO! What an ADVENTURE! Then you have a BABY! And aw, little FINGERS and little TOES!

That baby cries a lot. And you’re expected to get up with it. Like, at 3am. No one else does it. This puts a little crimp in your lifestyle, but listen, people come over and see you, and the baby, and lavish all the attention on you, and you are SO POPULAR ZOMG.

Then it’s time for college. All your friends, they are going to college. Are you going to college? Nope. You are not. You have a baby, you see. They are full of plans and schemes and such. They don’t have a lot of time to come over and hang with you and your baby, who’s actually not as cute and baby-like anymore, and more little-human-like. Huh. You’re not getting a lot of attention. And the baby’s not giving you any attention, other than crying all the time. As babies do.

So you’re kind of trapped. Everyone’s moving on, and the little person you created to give you unconditional love isn’t even able to vocalize yet. Well, other than the screaming. The constant screaming.

“Oh, you’re all going off to a concert? Great, I’ll just…um…stay here, with the baby. That’s fine! Have fun! Ha! Ha ha! I WISH I WAS DEAD.”

Maybe, just maybe? It wasn’t a good idea to have a baby yet. Just a thought.

Listen, I don’t have anything against babies. I think I’d be very, very bad at being a mom. I’m an excellent aunt, but I think part of that is because I can give The Nephew back at the end of the day. I’m not patient and I’m don’t have enough free time and a kajillion other reasons, blah blah blah. I can’t even imagine that having one in high school ON PURPOSE is a good idea. I couldn’t even handle one now and I’m well on my way to middle age. I knew a girl in high school who was pregnant and hid it until she just about gave birth; I knew a bunch of us who sang the entire damn Hallelujah chorus in the high school bathrooms when we got our periods and didn’t get pregnant from making stupid choices like not using enough or correct birth control.

Don’t create a little person whose sole purpose in life is to love you and to make people love you. That’s a lot of pressure on that little baby’s shoulders. That little baby shouldn’t have that kind of pressure. Cut that right out.

If You Do Have That Ill-Advised Baby, Don’t Name it Something Ridiculous

You’re going to name me Chystyph’yr? WHY DO YOU HATE ME MOM?

I found this article yesterday and I almost spit-took.

This person let her toddler name her child. Her toddler named her child after its favorite thing, and therefore she ended up with a second child named Spongebob.


Well, at least one person’s happy. Or, thing. One thing’s happy.

I also work at that answering service, and we answer for a lot of pediatric offices. So I talk to a lot of moms who need medical advice for their children. And people name their children VERY STUPID THINGS.

I feel terrible telling you what those things are, because what if those kids do a search someday, and they find their name? Because it’s not their fault their parents were asshats.

Yes, sure, these kids could change their names when they become old enough. That doesn’t change the fact that they have to go through 18 years of teachers pronouncing their names wrong in front of classrooms, kids picking on them for it, explaining their parents’ choices, etcetera ad infinitum.

Do not name your child something that is a brand name. Do not name your child something with a lot of apostrophes in it. Do not name  your child something that rhymes with something gynecological or scatological. THINK OF YOUR CHILD’S WELL-BEING. Here’s a quick rule: would you want that name? Yes? Great, legally change your name to that. Don’t do it to your kid.

Also, putting a shit-ton of “y”s into a name to make it different so that it stands out from all the other same names – for example, there are a million Camerons, but there’s only one Cymyryn! STOP IT. It looks like a stripper name. Do you want your daughter (hell, or son) to strip? Do you really? Because if you do, keep naming them things like Mydysyn and Cymyryn and Shynnyn. THESE HAVE NO VOWELS.


Listen, were there drugs when I was a kid? Of course there were. Did I do them? Well, not when I was in high school. I was not cool enough, come on.

When I was a kid, the drugs of choice were really bad pot and alcohol. That’s it. I don’t know if we even knew anything else existed. When I got to college, sometimes people would find things like hash. Oh, and the pot was of better quality. I don’t know that I knew anyone who did much of anything else. We couldn’t afford it, basically. We were pretty practical.

As I got older, I became acquainted with people who thought it was a good idea to try other things. Cocaine. Acid. (Oh, the hour-long conversation with the guy who wanted to describe his recent acid trip to me. NO ONE CARES THAT THE POSTERS ON THE WALL WERE TALKING TO YOU, GOOBER.)

I’m not telling you I never, ever did any drugs. I AM telling you I no LONGER do any drugs, because I don’t like chemically inducing myself to be stupid. And I am ALSO telling you that I was always way too much of a chickenshit to do much of anything, because I watched too many afterschool specials and very special episodes of primetime television as a child. I’M SO EXCITED I’M SO SCARED.


So apparently kids are drinking hand sanitizer? Soaking tampons with vodka and inserting them? And doing…what…something?…to Robitussin so it becomes a drug? And calling it “robotripping” because AREN’T YOU CLEVER?

Really? Cough medicine and hand sanitizer? REALLY?

And now there’s this “bath salts” nonsense that makes you “experience a mix of physical and psychological symptoms…can cause excited delirium and severe hallucinations…can become violent and suicidal…super-human strength, and long-lasting euphoria or paranoia.”

I get it. Kids are creative. That’s good! That means they’re thinking. With their thinkers. Nice. HOWEVER. I don’t know that you need to be using your thinkers for coming up with new and creative ways to get high, especially when those highs are making you INSANE.

I get it. It’s like sex. Kids want to try this, and there’s no way we’re going to stop them. I GET IT. But seriously, kiddos. Much like the 35-year-old-you is going to be pissed at the 16-year-old-you for getting that disgusting STD, the 35-year-old-you is going to be pretty pissed at good-times-you for thinking killing the part of your brain that remembers math problems because you just had to drink the Purell, you know? STOP BEING IDIOTIC. I know your impulse control is in the negative numbers right now, but come on. No one can think that putting a tampon soaked in vodka up your hooha is a good idea. THAT IS NOT WHAT YOUR COOCH IS FOR. Come right on. Be nicer to your cooch. You’re going to want that someday for fun-times.

Texting While Driving

OK. Again, I’m not going to stop any of you from doing this. EVERYONE does this. Top-secret news? I’ve totally done this myself. Thing is, I only do it at stoplights. I’m too scared to do otherwise. I am easily distractable and just know I’ll die if I do it and attempt to operate a moving vehicle.

Kids aren’t very good drivers to begin with. Add them not even having their eyes on the road because they’re WRITING A LITTLE MESSAGE on a TEENY TINY KEYBOARD, and, well, listen, you’re going to kill someone I care about.


I promise whatever it is can wait. I promise. Listen, like I said. I don’t like being separated from my phone that long, either. I’m obsessed with it. But if I can do it, you can, too. Also, there’s this voice-to-text option now. Maybe that? Maybe you can use that. Because if you kill someone I care about because you’re texting while driving, I’m going to get totally stabby.

OK, kiddos, and others, what have we learned today?

Well, to boil it all down into one sentence:


Easy, right? I know. I totally give the best advice. If you have questions about whether or not you should do something? Ask. I’ll let you know. I’m happy to help. I actually kind of like teens, even though most people think they’re annoying. They mean well, even though they wear inappropriately-low tops and their jeans are too big.

Oh! AND, to continue our week of Bloggiversary celebrations!

Your sixth-most-popular blog post of the WHOLE ENTIRE YEAR!

Nothing Good Has Ever Come from Use of a Ouija Board, Dummy

I am perplexed about this one. It’s not overly…well, funny. Or even good. I have no idea why this is the sixth-most-popular post of the entire year. None. (Again, sorry about the formatting. Stupid Blogger import. I’m not allowed to fix them, apparently.) It’s about horror movies. And what’s scary/funny/stupid. It’s fine, it’s not garbage. It’s just a perplexing choice for one of the top posts of the YEAR, you know? Huh. I don’t know, who am I to fight with the VOICE OF THE PEOPLE?I can’t even tell you what we’ve learned from this one because I’m perplexed. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Remember! Comment on yesterday’s post in order to be entered to win a totally awesome gift box of…um…stuff! That will be awesome!

Happy Monday, people! Tomorrow at this time, I’ll be with Susie. WITH SUSIE. In my favorite city in all the land! I’m so excited I could just about die. Oh, and PEE ESS, thank you powers that be for keeping planes up when appropriate and landing them when appropriate so both Susie and Ken got to their places in one piece. I freak out a little when my people are traveling. I like when I get the “all clear I AM OK AMY” messages. I know. I’m a little nuts. YOU STILL LOVE ME THOUGH.

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